


Tea Revives the World

by halotolerant



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Will Graham, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Rimming, Sex Pollen, Tea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-25 03:57:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6179272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halotolerant/pseuds/halotolerant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Still on his knees in of where Hannibal is seated, Will folds his arms and sighs.  </p><p>“You weren’t joking, were you?” he says, looking up and idly wiping over his mouth with the back of his hand. </p><p>Hannibal came in Will’s mouth about ten seconds ago, as fast as he ever has, and desperate and hot and so good his legs shook under him, and Hannibal is still hard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tea Revives the World

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [【翻译】Tea Revives the World 救世茶](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6597301) by [orphan_account](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account)



> **Notes** : For the prompt _'Hannibal gets hit with a sex pollen-type thing. Luckily, Will is there to service him'_
> 
> Altered and expanded a little from the tumblr post original. 
> 
> This is so unrepentant, I just needed to write fluffy filth this time *g*

Still on his knees in of where Hannibal is seated, Will folds his arms and sighs.  

 

“You weren’t joking, were you?” he says, looking up and idly wiping over his mouth with the back of his hand. 

 

Hannibal came in Will’s mouth about ten seconds ago, as fast as he ever has, and desperate and hot and so good his legs shook under him, and Hannibal is still hard. 

 

Sighing again, Will braces his hands on his thighs and stands up. Unceremoniously he takes two more steps forward and straddles Hannibal’s lap, his feet either side of the chair on which Hannibal is sitting, mostly clothed but with the flies of his suit trousers undone, and his cock still proudly erect and poking through. 

 

“Oh dear, oh dear,” Will is murmuring, quite happily. He sounds fond, almost pleased.

Will sits down, just about managing not to brush his own clothed body against where Hannibal is now exquisitely sensitive, and kisses at the side of Hannibal’s jaw. 

 

“Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear…”

 

It’s a stock phrase, of course, a regret. Will never calls him ‘dear’ or ‘darling’ or anything approaching a nickname. In fact ‘Dr. Lecter’ can still come out on particularly bad days. 

 

But Will keeps murmuring the words until they have no meaning, or any, and Hannibal did just orgasm, and his pulse is racing and his heart too full. 

 

“I guess the next question,” Will says, (and bearing in mind that the first question had been, _“Really? It can’t be that bad. How about I blow you and see?”,_ it’s an admirable holding of the thread of conversation), “is why on Earth you kept your vasoactive tea and your psychogenic tea in containers that it was remotely possible to confuse. And the third question, probably,” Will sighs again, and grins, and takes off his glasses to wipe them - there are a few splatters, “ought to be why the hell you even own those teas, but I don’t ask questions like that any more.”

 

“You are pleased that I made a mistake,” Hannibal accuses, leaning back to improve the distance between them for weight of staring. 

 

Will leans back and away in turn, his weight shifting on Hannibal’s thighs. 

 

Will is hard, Hannibal notice, his erection straining at the black denim of his jeans. 

 

“Pleased?” Will is grinning from ear to ear. “You think I’m pleased that you’ve dosed yourself with something that’s going to give you an erection for practically a whole day and make you horny as a…. Horny as a…” Will stops - has to, it seems - convulsed into laughter. 

 

Hannibal sets his lips together. “I’m glad my predicament at least brings you some amusement.”

 

“You’d walk over hot coals for me,” Will shoots back, at once. He’s still smiling but it’s gone softer, warmer. “You’d tear apart your insides. You let them hold you in a cage for three years for my sake. You’ll let me laugh at your penis, Hannibal.”

 

And Will leans in, voice going low and deadly, and kisses him. 

 

Will tastes salty and bitter, of Hannibal’s semen and seminal fluid. Under that something of cheap beer, something canned, the stuff Will likes to drink as he fixes boat engines out on the garden table, in the sunshine, dogs milling about and around and ‘helping’ with the spanners. 

 

The denim he’s wearing is for the engine work, too dark to show grease easily, although perhaps he knows how he looks in it, too. The natural accompaniment is a plaid shirt, and such Will is also wearing, the top buttons are undone, letting out the scent of the sweat on his chest most sweetly when he draws away, panting, from their kiss. Hannibal finds himself gulping the air between them, trying not to groan with desire. 

 

When he looks up, he catches Will studying him, biting his lip. 

 

Their gazes don’t break apart as Will reaches between them, unzipping his own fly and getting his cock out, running his hand up and down it a few times, shifting a bit more on Hannibal’s lap as he does so, micro-movements like he’s just uncontrollably eager to get in and thrust. 

 

“I actually worried about your stamina, when we started sleeping together,” Will says now, with something almost a laugh.

 

Hannibal doesn’t move a single muscle. He doesn’t blink. 

 

Will does. He looks down and away a moment, lashes bobbing, almost approaching an apology. 

 

“I mean I worried whether or not I could keep up,” Will whispers, keeping it secret between them, even from the air. “Hell, I wondered whether I could keep up with… any part of you. You, the amount that you do, that you achieve, that you excel at?” His voice has gone wondering, his eyes wide. “And then me. How did I fit into that picture? I was…” 

 

Hannibal slides a hand gently up Will’s back and leans in to nibble and lick at his ear. It’s something, he’s found, that Will particularly loves, that especially calms and pleases him, and of course therefore he always squirms and protests about it, apparently overwhelmed by the feeling unless it’s immediately post-coital and he’s too blissed out to complain. 

 

(And Hannibal does give him bliss on a frequent basis - of that there is no doubt, for all Hannibal’s other fears.)

 

“You are entirely precious to me,” Hannibal tells him, earnestly. 

 

“I wasn’t always. You had to look, you had to search for that. You didn’t expect it in me. No one ever did.”

 

“No, from the moment I first…” 

 

“No,” Will says over him, and shakes his head, gently, calmly. He’s smiling again, just about, despite the flush rising in his cheeks and round his eyes. “No. It wasn’t like that. But it’s OK. It might not have been from the start, but no one has ever - could ever - love me more than you do. Even if you’d let them try.” And he chuckles, slightly, and turns away. “Fuck, sorry, we’re dealing with your stupid penis here, not my… blah,” and he waves a hand.

 

Hannibal gazes at him. At a man who knows the awful depths of another’s love for him, and yet cannot believe it either, still, despite everything.

 

“Can I love you, then, Will?” Hannibal slides his hands round to palm at Will’s ass, pushing and kneading, and feeling the shivers that this arouses. Will’s cock bobs and thickens, and falls, unplanned, blunt against Hannibal’s, and they both gasp again. 

 

“Let me touch you,” Hannibal continues, voice thick and low. He urges Will to stand for a moment, moving away so that together they can get those tight jeans down and off one leg, and then the boxer shorts, and soon Will is naked from the waist down, back on Hannibal’s lap, his bare thighs rubbing against the tweed of Hannibal’s trousers, his pale skin going red with the friction. 

 

“The first time we ate together,” Hannibal reminisces, speaking the top of his mind, “you were wearing only small shorts like those when you answered the door of your motel to me.”

 

Will hums agreement, but seems more interested in adjusting his posture to arch his back, stick his sweet, tight buttocks out and make it easy for Hannibal to get to him.

 

So _hungry_ , he is. So they both are.  

 

“Yeah, I remember,” Will says, a little breathless. “My first FBI job, and you woke me up and gave me people sausage and eggs, and I couldn’t figure out why you were being nice. I really thought that might be my biggest problem with you, Hannibal Lecter, that you were too nice.”

 

“I can be nice,” Hannibal points out, one eyebrow raised, and demonstrates it, sucking on his own fingers to get them wet and then trailing them down from the base of Will’s spine, finding his hole and starting to play. 

 

The gasp Will makes is cracked out of him, and Hannibal feels himself throb. Even now, artificially maintained in his arousal, he’s not as affected by it as some might be. He’s never felt bodily sensations as acutely as he believes others do. On the other hand, his mental sensations have always had physical urgency to them, and the feelings he has about Will, about Will under his hands, about Will in pleasure or pain at his touch, have been erotically compulsive as long as he can recall. 

 

“The next question - what are we on, now? Four questions? The next - oh! - question,” Will persists, despite Hannibal’s best efforts with rubbing and pushing at the rim of his anus, “is why you let me know that you’d messed up with the teas. Why did you call me in here, when you could have gone to your attic with the harpsichord, told me you were composing and jacked off for twelve hours in privacy and – argh – I guess mostly dignity, instead?”

 

Hannibal shoves in the tip of one finger and Will gasps again, and Hannibal smacks one his buttocks for good measure, which makes the hold on his finger pinch and tighten.

 

“That was a peculiarly unperceptive question, Will.”

 

Eyes looking up from under long lashes, that lip bitten again, a smile; Will knew what he was asking, and what kind of answer he’d get, no doubt. 

 

Allowing him another spank is not exactly reinforcing the right behaviour, but then on the other hand it might be, really, and it is also entirely delightful not only to deliver the blows to Will but to watch him receive them, and feel him take them until his skin has reddened and he’s bucking with sensitivity and readiness to be filled. 

 

That time comes quickly, today. Will usually becomes aroused by sucking Hannibal’s cock, but generally following that to completion negates Hannibal penetrating Will afterwards, at least with his cock, though fingers and dildos and on one memorable occasion an automatic machine Hannibal purchased online have filled the position, so to speak. 

 

(That last had been good, undoubtedly, and Will visibly, vocally enjoyed it, but he’d asked Hannibal to get rid of the ‘Auto-Fucker’ all the same. _‘You’ve done enough to me at one remove”_ , he’d said, calmly but firmly. _“You’ve had me clinically more than I care to remember. More than I even can remember. So if you touch me now, it’s you touching, do you understand?”_ )

 

Today, Will goes up to stand and then sinks down onto Hannibal’s still-hard cock with a satisfied grunt, and Hannibal feels that touch with an intensity bordering on the edge of real discomfort. He moves Will slowly, hands to his hips to help him rise and fall, and also takes one hand away sometimes to rub over Will’s stomach, tracing at the curve of the scar Hannibal left there, on that worst of days. 

 

Will flails his arms out to his sides, grasping at air, the trembling of his body all too visible in the movement of his shirt fabric, his head tipped back, cock sticking out and leaking from the exposed, rosy tip. 

 

“The first… first t-time, I knew I wanted you to do this to me,” Will is saying, struggling with a dry mouth and all the times he has to stop to groan, “I was… it was when, when I saw you with the patient in the ambulance that idiot, whoever he was… that - fuck - that guy in the ambulance with the surgeries. And we found him and you rolled up your sleeve and reached into that body with your long, thin fingers and I wanted… Fuck. Hannibal.” And Will reaches out, grabs Hannibal’s arms like they’re rails on a fairground ride and holds on, moving himself more insistently now, taking his pleasure as he wants it. 

 

The fire is building, heating, between Hannibal’s legs and his muscles tensing. 

 

“You’re going to…” Will moves up and down, almost bouncing, desperate. He’s sweating, the plaid shirt gone wet and dark under his arms and in the middle of his chest. “But even after this you’ll still be hard, right? So you can fuck me all over again.”

 

Hannibal comes, hard. Freezes and shoots, and empties himself. 

 

And it doesn’t matter because yes, he is still hard afterwards, and he can keep moving - _fucking_ , an inelegant but efficient word - and push into where Will is now slippery with come and get him to the point of orgasm too. 

 

“Keep moving,” Will insists immediately afterwards, voice high and splintered, eyes wide, and Hannibal does - they both do, thighs struggling with the effort, and after a while Will comes again himself, even though his own erection is flagging and produces only a small spend. 

 

Hannibal is still completely hard. 

 

“Oh,” Will says, wistfully, sinking slowly, lushly down onto him one more time. Then he winces, and rises properly, relinquishing his seat. They make an obscene sound as they finally part, and liquid starts to run down the insides of Will’s thighs, white and a little red. 

 

Hannibal stands up, gently helping Will move backwards, and then tears Will’s shirt off. 

 

Will’s chest is pink and slick with sweat, and now he’s only wearing the simple leather lace around his neck, from which hangs a small locket holding the bullet that was dug out of Hannibal’s stomach, after Dolarhyde. 

 

When Will had, perhaps, finally started on the path to believing that there really was no greater love.

 

Not that they’re there, yet. Not that they’re certain, quite. Not that, even now, either of them seems able to be sure.

 

Will is staggering a little where he stands, and Hannibal knows his own happiness must look on his face like a snarl on a vicious muzzle as he bends to pick Will up, and carry him over to the daybed in the next room. 

 

Will rolls his eyes, snorts – squirming from the gentleness, the promise of it - but lets it happen all the same. He lightly loops his hands around Hannibal’s neck, pressing soft kisses gently, idly, at the base of Hannibal’s neck. 

 

Carefully, Hannibal sets him down on soft cushions, then moves to lie beside him and looks around in the cupboard next to the daybed for some lubricant. 

 

It is, after all, a purposefully roomy daybed and they keep supplies always close at hand.

 

“Hey,” he hears Will saying, though, and he looks back around. 

 

And feels his balls gather and try to tighten and empty yet _again_ , because Will has raised one knee and is holding his legs open, offering the wetness still gathered in his hole for Hannibal’s use. 

 

Will whines when Hannibal’s fingers probe at him, but doesn’t really try to bat him away. Slick, hypnotised, Hannibal starts to touch himself, stroking leisurely as he lets his eyes feast on Will’s body. 

 

Smiling again, Will turns a little and pushes his leg in between Hannibal’s, exploring with his foot, stroking with his toes against the back of Hannibal’s calf. 

 

“You carried me away from Muskrat Farm,” Will murmurs. “And I wasn’t asleep. Not the whole time. Do you… Do you remember how I used to talk about my house? About how it was a ship of light in the dark, how it was the only place I felt safe?”

 

Hannibal kisses him gently, and nods into his skin. 

 

“I felt safe in your arms. I had never felt safety like it.”

 

Pausing in his moments, Hannibal looks up to catch Will’s eye again. The physiological effects of that tea are keeping him erect and ready, but suddenly he’s not feeling very sexual. 

 

“You told me to go away, Will.”

 

“I know.” Will’s eyes have misted again. “God, I know. I remember it. I remember it like it was engraved inside my eyes - I couldn’t make it shift, ever, every night until I saw you again.”

 

Will rolls onto his back, and Hannibal kneels up, over him. 

 

“Take your clothes off,” Will asks. 

 

When Hannibal is naked too - and still hard, which is progressively more ludicrous, he lies back down, and they are skin to skin, and Will’s body is so warm and yet he is shivering. Hannibal throws his arm over him. 

 

“I told you to go away,” Will murmurs distantly, and strokes Hannibal’s face, and then his chest, and then his flank, and finally in the same soft caress takes up Hannibal’s cock and handles him with a deft touch. “I told you to go away.” 

 

It isn’t an apology, it couldn’t be. Nothing could be, except everything, except all this life they now share together. It isn’t an explanation. It is what it is, as all things are. 

 

And this is now, and here is their hope.

 

“Will.” Hannibal presses their foreheads together. “Will, I am here.”

 

“You’ve been here a long time.” Will’s voice is almost too low to hear, barely a breath. “Longer than me. But I’m here too, now, Hannibal, I am. This is my love here with yours.”

 

Will’s hand moves sure and soothing as he speaks, and Hannibal, straining, shuddering, comes yet again, as good an excuse as any to bury his face in the curve of Will’s shoulder and collapse into him. 

 

There is a period of quiet, for a while, and them just lying together, Hannibal’s hands compulsively exploring Will’s body, stroking and rubbing until he’s breathless, eyes glassy and feverish with pleasure, and then Hannibal flips him over and goes with lips and teeth and tongue, rimming Will’s sore hole until he’s getting up on his hands and knees and somehow almost hard again, sobbing loud and shattered with it, and then Hannibal penetrates him once more, sore himself, and finds the right angle and goes for it until Will’s whole body freezes in place as he comes internally, his soft penis barely twitching but his hole hot and spasming until Hannibal comes too, one more time. 

 

And this - this seems like it might be the end, at last; satisfaction.

 

The peace he can find, always, eventually, in Will’s embrace.

 

It’s gotten dark, somewhere along the way, and hard to see, but Will’s grasping arms, his panting, broken voice, the thumping of his heart is enough. 

 

“And one more question,” Will says finally, when they’ve been resting curled into each other who knows how much longer. “Just one more, I think, really.” Leaning in, he drops a kiss to Hannibal’s chest.

 

“Which has to be whether – with the teas properly labelled because I don’t want to make a mistake myself and see your head turn into an ice-cream swirl ever again - we could maybe do this again?”

 

“Anything, my dearest,” Hannibal tells him, calmly. 

 

Will snuggles back into him and gives a sigh that is all contentment.

 

“I know,” he says. “I know.”


End file.
